endangered by that idleness, which a tyrannical command, and disposal of fellow men, has introduced in these, as to religion, almost desolate states.

O my dearest inheritance, short of things divine! bear with my so expressing myself; for things have so turned in my mind since I left thee, that it seems to me I shall never have much more enjoyment of all that this world affords. I seem cut out from it all, and have before me as to that a dreary journey through life; yet do not repine, fully believing if I press rightly on, I shall finally have an humble mansion, where the wicked cease from troubling, and my weary soul will be at rest. There may thou also ever reign with him, and those who thither find the way through scenes of wo; at least through suffering scenes and many a pang. I do indeed still find liberty to promise my. self much satisfaction in thee, and our dear babes, if we should live, and be allowed to enjoy each other's company. But as to other things, wherein I have sometimes strove to find satisfaction, I am almost ready to say, with one I have read of, "All things else forsake me, save my duty, my God, and my prayers." Though I might not of myself have worded it just so.

Think not, by all this, that I mean to abandon a proper care of family affairs. Never had I less thought thereof; but it must be from necessity, not from expectations of much satisfaction in this world. I almost fear thou and others would suspect my head was turned a little, should I mention the gloom that seems to spread over, and surround all earthly prospects. Never did things appear to me before just as they have since mid-winter. I feel willing, in great degree, to suffer all that is best for me, and to have as little enjoyment of earth as I deserve, (perhaps that is none,) and yet am also willing to have as much I can in the truth. For I have no faith in crosses of my own making or imposing. But, alas! this is not our home. Our scene of enjoyment lies beyond this world, and in that godliness which is true gain below.

Oh! how have I been detained! How have things on this footstool held fast my soul from that full accession to the mount of myrrh, which is, even in this state of existence, not only attainable, but the only undisturbed resting place for the mind of VOL. II.-11

man.

Oh! let us, my dear partner, let us count nothing too dear to give up, that we may win him, who only is the pearl of great price. Let nothing hinder our, not weak, but vigorous breathings of soul, after him and the joy of his all-consolating presence.

I expect it will be difficult for thee, or others, to get letters to me, after the Yearly Meeting at Wayne Oak, in this state. But do write me as often as thou canst, and some of thy lines may reach me. I never so much desired to hear from thee, as since I came into this land. The time looks very long that I may be from thee; even if it should not be longer than I first expected. It may not be so long, but I know almost nothing how long it may be. I have been with thee in dreams, a few times, to great satisfaction. But I lately dreamed my dear Lydia fell in the well, and was almost drowned. I drew her out alive, with great joy. Do keep them from the well, and the curb up in good order. It may not be best to despise even dreams. I also wish thee, and all the family, to be very careful of fire. Secure it well at night, nor leave it carelessly in the day. I want much to know how thou art borne up in my absence; and whether our dear sister yet liveth. I feel much for her, earnestly desiring, if she lives, she may be kept in, and consolated by the truth; believing, if life is lengthened, she will have but little other joy than what truth alone affords. But perhaps, ere this time, she is no more in this probationary state. Well, if she is gone, I hope she's gone to enless peace. Of these things, what thou canst, pray let me hear; also, my dear children's welfare, as also, my beloved father's. My love is to him, and thee, and all. Tell my near neighbours, I think of them with a degree of affection; as likewise my relations, and friends.

Dear father and mother Anthony, I don't find much to add, to send you, but endeared love, including all my dear brothers and sisters. May they all seek the Lord for their portion, and choose the God of Jacob for the lot of their inheritance. Do, dear father, not neglect what would afford me so much satisfaction, as to receive frequent accounts from thy pen, how things are with mine and thine. Indeed, I almost say, all mine are thine, and thine are mine. The band is increased, the knot is

stronger tied. May nought prevail to sever, loosen, or untie. Be kind to those I left in charge with thee. And in return, may Heaven to thee and thine, be kind. I lately read in Elwood's Sacred History, that Moses, when called to visit his brethren, in their Egyptian afflictions, left his wife and family, with Jethro, his wife's father, and received them of him, in the wilderness, after they came from the house of bondage. Thou canst, perhaps, as well conceive as I express, the feelings of my soul, when this revived, in fresh remembrance, her whom most I love, with hers and mine; and how I left them all with thee, and with the rest of thine.

Daniel has been ill, but is better. We get on but slowly, though hope to mend our pace. The way has seemed shut up, but we now look forward; are nearly united; up together, and down together, at almost every turn. Daniel says, he came to be my companion. He is truly made eminently so. Deep have we dipped together in tribulation, and feelingly partook each other's joy. His love is to my dear Eunice, and my own father, with thine and mother, &c. Give mine to all my friends in town and country, as thou seest them. Thou knowest who they are. Friends' arms are open enough to receive us; and those who have trod the path have deeply sympathised with us, in inward pain; and also joined with us, in songs of inward heart-felt joy.

Farewell, dear wife, and all, farewell, in that which never fails to keep the lamp of love alive, where it is in fulness known. and lived in. In which, with fulness of affection, I remain dear love, thy loving, exercised husband, and, dear parents, your dutiful and grateful son,

JOB SCOTT.

Dear wife,

To his Wife.

Virginia, 35 miles below Alexandria, 4th month 30th, 1789.

Trials of various kinds, through life, betide thy deeply proved husband. Some of those he has had to pass through, since he

was thine, thou art well acquainted with, and some the Lord only fully knows the depth of. Almost every objection that one could have, I seemed to have, to excuse my leaving thee, to perform the present embassy. But all my objections together, would not afford any consolation of mind, in the thoughts of withstanding my duty. I gave up. But before, and since I came from home, my portion was, and has continued to be, mingled much with wormwood; although through unmerited favour, my cup has sometimes overflowed with unmixed sweetness and joy. But, how short-lived are our agreeable seasons! A new, and not a little afflictive probation is now allotted me. My dearly beloved, my bosom friend and companion, on whom I often leaned and relied, in times of trial, in this remote land, is, and has been so much unwell, that he has concluded to leave me. We both much doubt his being able to go through the southern country. If I dared to do it, I should urge his continuance with me, but I dare not, lest I should have to leave him behind me. On the other hand, if I dared to return home with him, I surely would do it. I scarce know how to look forward, and to face, alone, every varied trial, that I seem in full expectation of having to encounter in this journey. But when I turn my back on it, and look home, as I have again and again tried to do, it seems like refusing to do an important part of my most important day's work; and such a part too, that without my being at least given up to go through, and finish it, I can have no hope of receiving my penny, at last.

Oh! the bands, the necessity, that some are under, of going whither, in their own creaturely choice, they would not. Well, let me not repine. Let me not go on too grudgingly. For, adored be the name of him, who thus binds, and brings under this necessity, he has done more for my poor soul, than I can ever requite him for. He has washed me in his own blood; has redeemed my soul from the worst of thraldom; has himself become my bow, my battle-axe, and weapon of war. Oh! therefore, let me never revolt from his law again, nor turn my back in the day of battle; nor decline going into the hottest of the fight, when he commands, and in his service. I have not been so long together, tried with entire insensibility of all good, in

this journey, as before. But the weight, Oh! the pressure and weight of the work, both in meetings, and for hours before they begin, is far beyond what, in general, I ever knew before; insomuch, that I am, at times, ready to cry out aloud under it. But then, I remember, that he that loved us, before we loved him, has endured for my sake, far more exquisite distress, than it is probable I can ever have to bear. And I also am often put in mind, that if through and after all this tribulation, I can be allowed an humble mansion in the kingdom of true rest, I cannot have cause to murmur; but abundant cause to shout aloud, and sing redeeming grace forever. By thoughts like these, has my mind been very frequently and suddenly hushed and stayed, when almost ready to give way to an agonizing, and overflowing torrent of distressing sensations.

How often have I wished I could, if but for a few moments, pour forth my grief into thy bosom, that I might feel the soothing influence of a few heart-felt, relieving, sympathising sighs! But, no; I must not yet that bliss enjoy. Instead thereof, must bid farewell, and part with him, who only has that place, in part, supplied; and lean henceforward on my God alone. Oh! may his mighty arm be known by me, in every trying scene. And may the same, my dear, bear up thy drooping soul; till we once more, (which yet I trust we shall,) may meet again; and face to face, relate what varying scenes we've waded through; yea, in each other's bosom pour, not as by pen and ink in part, but unrestrained, our tale of wo, though not unmixed, I hope, with solid joy; with thanks to God for favours, undeserved; and not the least, that love and life are ours.

I wrote thee from Alexandria last seventh-day. This is my sixth letter. I have a solid satisfaction in writing to thee, and some relief of mind. But how much more so would it be, if I could as often have a line from thee. I have not yet had the satisfaction of one word from home since I left it. But I must wait with patience. It is your welfare I want to hear of, and as that depends on the Lord, to him I must still recommend and resign you. Keep near him, O my dearest love, keep near him; and strive to keep all mine and thine as near his holy way as possible. For, though a thousand slight it on the right, and ten